


Ready or Not

by jellyfishline



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anxiety, Dean POV, Gen, Mild Angst, Pre-Series, Young Winchesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-16 17:57:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2279268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellyfishline/pseuds/jellyfishline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean play hide and seek. It's all fun and games until Sam gets lost and Dean can't find him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ready or Not

There’s not a lot to do at Bobby’s house. It’s better than a motel room or whatever, but it’s not like a playground or a mall or a place where there’s lots to do. It’s peaceful, which is nice sometimes and dead boring others.

But there is one thing that Dean and Sam quickly discovered Bobby’s house is perfect for, and that is hide-and-seek.

All kinds of nooks and crannies. All kinds of book stacks and curtains and boxes and closets. Two levels plus a basement that they aren’t supposed to go down, and Dean’s pretty certain there’s some kinda monster down there because it smells like old socks anytime Bobby opens the door. It’s basically the ultimate hide-and-seek locale—which is great, because hide-and-seek, as far as Dean is concerned, is the best game ever invented.

Okay, sure, it was pretty dumb when Sam was little and he thought ‘hiding’ was pulling a blanket over his head and giggling so loud he gave away his position. But now Sam’s old enough to be sneaky and damn if he isn’t good at it. He’s small and fast and quiet, and he never gets bored and peeks his head out unless he’s sneaking from one hiding spot to the other. He’s so good at hiding it’s actually kind of a challenge, but it all evens out because Dean is a much better seeker. It’s kinda like Dad’s training, Dean’s decided, which means it’s okay to spend all day playing. It’s not a waste of time if it’s training.

It’s like, the fourth game of the afternoon, and Dean’s starting to get a bit tired but Sam’s still full of energy so he agrees to one more game.

Dean squats down in the middle of the hallway—strategic, he can hear the creaking stairs and basically the entire first floor with his eyes shut and hands clamped over them. “One,” he says, pausing between numbers to listen. “Two...”

He stops at ten, as always, and belts out, “Ready or not, here I come!”

He thought he heard footsteps near the library so he goes that way. Bobby’s reading a book at his desk.

“Didja see Sam anywhere?” Dean asks. It’s not cheating to ask the locals for information.

Bobby shakes his head. “No, and I wouldn’t tell you if I had. You wanna play five games in a row, you get to use that head of yours five times.”

“Okay, okay.”

Dean wanders off. Sam’s not in the library. He’s not in the kitchen either. Dean checks all the corners, all the usual spots. No Sam.

Huh.

Maybe he snuck past him up the stairs. Dean searches the dusty, empty rooms. Hesitates at Bobby’s bedroom door, but forces himself to push through. Maybe he’s not supposed to go in there, but he’s gotta find Sam. It’s his job.

Dean checks under Bobby’s bed. In the closet. Still no Sam. He finds a picture of a pretty lady in a white wedding dress that makes him feel a little sick. She looks a lot like Mom.

“Sammy?” Dean says. Walks out of the room and into the hall. “Sam? You can come out now, okay? I-I give up.”

No answer.

There’s not a lotta light up in this hallway. The shadows stretch up and Dean gulps. Dark is bad, but twilight is worse, Dad says. Your eyes don’t adjust right and everything gets blurry.

Dean climbs back down the stairs. His feet thud. A clock ticks somewhere.

“Sam?”

Nothing. Okay, Sam’s just being real stubborn. He doesn’t want the game to end. Okay. Just check all the spots again, you probably just missed him.

Dean peeks in the library. Bobby isn’t there.

Dean’s heart bellyflops right into his stomach. Clutches the wall until his nails leave marks in the paint.

Bobby’s gone. He’s _gone._

But Bobby wouldn’t just go. He wouldn’t leave them, Bobby’d say something first.

Something must’ve happened.

Sam is gone. _Gone._ Dean’s alone. Gotta find Sam—find Sam before whatever took Bobby takes him too.

“Sam?” Dean tries to say, and it comes out a squeak and—stupid. Shouldn’t talk, something might hear him. The shadows well up and Dean just keeps seeing the woman in the wedding dress. Maybe she haunts the house. Maybe she took Bobby.

Dean circles the kitchen. Then the library. Kitchen, library. Kitchen, library. Not even looking anymore, just wandering back and forth as the darkness swells up into his lungs and presses on his chest.

Okay, okay. Pull it together. Think—think! Where would Sam go?

Dean’s eyes flick to the basement door.

Sam knows they aren’t supposed to go down there. But Sam doesn’t always listen to the rules like he should. And maybe—maybe the ghost lady forced him down there. Maybe he’s trapped. Hurt.

Dead.

Dean goes for the door. His hand’s sweaty and slips on the knob. But when the door swings open it’s even worse. There’s the smell again. The darkness. It’s not stairs it’s just a hole down into the earth. It’s like the pit filled with snakes in Indiana Jones. It’s like part of a tomb.

Suddenly Dean feels two feet high and he’s just a little kid again, scared and trembling, wanting his Daddy to save him.

I’m not a kid, Dean thinks, fiercely. He’s stared monsters in the face. Dad lets him touch the guns whenever. Dean knows he’s not very brave and he’s not very bright but he is not a little kid and he is never, ever going to let anything happen to Sammy.

He takes a step onto the staircase. It creaks.

The ghost is gonna hear him. If ghosts even need to hear.

Maybe it’s not a ghost. Could be a vampire or a werewolf or a shtriga or a wendigo or like fifty million other things. It could be anything. It could be one of those bad guys Dad tells him not to talk to.

He’s a few steps from the bottom. The darkness is so thick and Dean can’t catch his breath. It’s choking him. There’s something down here.

And he sees it.

Sees the shape of it in the dark and Dean screams.

Screams and tries to run because he’s a coward and he’s such a fucking idiot to come down here defenseless and he slips on the stairs and bangs his shin and screams again and the _thing_ is on him and he’s gonna die he’s gonna die Sam is dead he’s gonna _die—_

“Dean! It’s okay, Dean!”

Dean cracks open an eye. He’s not dead. And this isn’t a ghost. Unless ghosts smell like whiskey and old spice and feel warm and solid when they’ve got you by the shoulder.

“Bobby?” Dean says.

“Last I checked,” Bobby says. “God’s sake, boy, tell me you ain’t hurt. Your head okay? What’ve I told you about these stairs?”

Dean tries to answer, but can’t, because a huge sob bubbles up and gets in the way.

And then another. And another. And Dean’s sobbing, just wailing like a little kid at the foot of the stairs. It’s really gross, there’s snot in his nose and his heart is still pounding, but then Bobby puts his arms around Dean and Dean’s so surprised he hiccups.

Bobby pats his back gently, little awkwardly, and Dean doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do so he just hides his face in Bobby’s shoulder and cries.

“All right. All right, enough of that.” Bobby thumps his back a few times. “Dean, tell me what’s going on.”

“C-can’t find S-Sam,” Dean chokes. “B-Bobby, I c-can’t find him!”

“Well how about I give it a look, okay?”

Dean nods. Bobby puts him down on the stairs gently and rests a hand on his shoulder, and it should be embarrassing but Dean’s so worried he can’t be embarrassed right now.

The kitchen seems blindingly bright after the darkness of the basement. Bobby is a reassuring weight at his side, and they take turns calling for Sam.

But then there’s a sound at the backdoor. Dean turns around and suddenly there’s Sammy.

Sammy, okay, alive, close by.

Smiling.

“Gotcha!” he says, grinning with the gaps of lost baby teeth. “I waited _so long,_ Dean, and you never ever found me!”

Dean marches over. Sam’s smile flickers because Dean isn’t smiling.

“Uh, Dean? What happened? Did Dad—”

Sam shuts up the moment Dean throws his arms around his shoulders.

Sam is okay.

And, damn it, a few more tears squeeze out of Dean’s eyes.

Dean lets go. Rubs at his eyes and tries to look mad, because anything is better than weepy.

“Uh,” Sammy says. “I was just outside, are we not supposed to go in the junkyard? ‘Cause I was just—”

“I don’t wanna play hide-and-seek anymore,” Dean says.

“But _Deeean—!_ ”

“I just—I just wanna play something else,” Dean says. “Okay?”

“Fine,” Sam pouts. “But I get to pick.”

Dean sticks close enough to Sam for the rest of the day that Sam keeps pouting at him. Dean’s okay with that. A bossy little brother is better than no little brother.

Dean should’ve remembered. Just because a place is peaceful, doesn’t mean it’s safe.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by another prompt from yet_intrepid


End file.
